


Mechanical Advantage

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 24/7 D/s, BDSM, Fucking Machines, Humiliation, M/M, Obedience, Phone Sex, Robots, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you hear me?"</p><p>"Yes," John says, shuttering his eyes closed. Rodney doesn't give him any goddamned time anymore, no time to adjust, to get himself into this space where –</p><p>"Then do what I told you to do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanical Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> One of my earliest Kink Bingo fics! It's for "fucking machines," because when you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way. Also contains the depiction of a 24/7 D/s relationship, voyeurism, humiliation, obedience, phone sex . . . basically, the works.

  
John gets the note while in a meeting with Lorne, Duberry, and Myers. It's a meeting about how many bullets they have, and how many bullets they need, and how the people whose job it is to count the bullets (people John envies greatly) aren't doing it properly.

Duberry shakes her head and taps a finger on the report in front of her. "I'm just saying, if we make each offworld team take a Wraith stunner instead of one of their P-90s – "

"That would completely screw the team's tactical makeup," Myers objects.

"Yeah, but we're not going to have a choice," she says, pointing again to the page.

"We have regular supply runs – " Lorne interjects.

"Not regular enough."

As they bicker, John glances over at his laptop screen, wondering how much longer he should let them go on before breaking it up. It's gotta be 15:00 by now.

The computer clock reads 14:45. There's something in bold in his inbox; a message from Rodney, flagged confidential. He clicks it open.

 _John,_

 _15:15 in the usual place. Bring lube. Don't be late._

 _-R._

John feels desire uncoil low in his belly, feels his mouth go a little dry. Rodney never gives him much time to prepare, just tells him where to be and when. It drives him crazy. Last time, John ran straight from a meeting with Ellis to get to where Rodney was, arriving flushed and panting and almost five minutes late. Rodney had punished him for it.

"Okay, folks, I'm going to break this one up," John says, closing the email and turning his attention back to the people in front of him. "Duberry, you go ahead and do the thing you want on your own team, let us all know how it works out."

Duberry rolls her eyes at that, and Lorne smirks. John can't concentrate on their faces as they nod their goodbyes and shuffle out of his office; he's already tasting Rodney's cock in his mouth, already anticipating the low burn and stretch as Rodney fucks him.

It doesn't take him long to postpone his other meetings, or to stop by his quarters to pick up the lube, so he shouldn't be late this time. He can't quite tamp down the slow roll of anticipation that judders along his nerves, the knowledge that Rodney's about to do something to him, about to use him.

When he gets to their usual room, there's no one there. John checks his watch: 15:13. Maybe Rodney hasn't arrived yet. Everything's in its usual place, thick padding on the floor that could be for sparring, bedding stacked innocuously against the far wall – but there's a large silver suitcase lying on the floor near his feet, strange and heavy and unfamiliar. Maybe Rodney bought some new toys.

John reaches up to his ear to remove his radio, to get ready, but before he even touches the earpiece the radio switches on.

"Take off your clothes," Rodney says, his voice low and quiet in John's ear, crackling a little over the connection.

Leaving the earpiece alone for the moment, John drops his hand to his belt, where he hesitates.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes," John says, shuttering his eyes closed. Rodney doesn't give him any goddamned time anymore, no time to adjust, to get himself into this space where –

"Then do what I told you to do."

John takes a deep breath through his nose and unbuckles his belt, undoes his fly. He bends to get his boots off, his socks, then shoves his pants and underwear roughly down his hips. He can feel himself blushing, angry at Rodney for starting so quickly, for doing this to him without even being in the room.

The material of his t-shirt must scrape against the mic when he pulls it over his head, because Rodney says, "Good," when John's finished undressing.

He can't help himself from asking the question. "Where are you?"

Rodney's chuckle reverberates in his ear. "In my lab," he answers. "Locked in all alone."

John's disappointed; he was looking forward to getting Rodney's body, Rodney's cock, but this looks like it's going to be phone sex. Which is fine; John's done that before.

"I know what you want," Rodney says over the line. "You want me to come down there and fuck you."

John breathes, naked and alone in the room.

"Don't you? Answer me."

"Yeah," John says, and licks his lips, trying to figure out what Rodney wants. "Yes. Please." He shivers, but not from cold.

"I'm not going to."

John closes his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want you to get your fingers in your ass," Rodney says immediately, his voice a soft murmur. "Get down on the floor, spread your thighs. Pick up the lube and get yourself wet."

John does, bracing himself on his knees and one hand while he presses lube into his asshole with the other. His dick, which has been hardening ever since he got Rodney's email, twitches as he stretches his hole open with two fingers. He grunts and arches his shoulder further back, tries to get his fingers a little further in.

"That's nice," Rodney says, low and appreciative. And John realises that Rodney – that Rodney must –

"You can see me?"

A laugh. "Oh, yeah. I've got a few cameras in there."

John groans and shoves his ass back against his fingers: it's too little pressure, not wide enough, not deep enough, but it still feels good, so good. He arches his spine a little, leans his head back, exposing the line of his throat.

"Yeah," Rodney mutters in his ear, "Yeah, put on a show for me." And John feels a little thrill of pleasure through his body at that, because Rodney never pretends to be unaffected by this, never pretends that he's not turned on like crazy. John can imagine Rodney sitting in his lab, pants undone, computer screen in front of him, gripping himself hard, touching himself the same way he touches John, sometimes.

John's arm is starting to get tired, but Rodney said _wet_ , so he gets more lube and switches hands, makes sure to get the outside of his hole wet and gleaming before dipping fingers back into himself.

"That's perfect, John," Rodney's saying. "You're so good, this is going to be so good." The praise makes him feel strange, too hot and too tight in his own skin. His cock is hard and heavy now, thick with blood and starting to leak. He wants to touch it – wants to wrap his hand around himself and fuck into his own fist – but he knows he's not allowed.

Words escape anyway. "Rodney," he pants. "Please."

The sound of Rodney's breathing is loud over the radio connection, but he doesn't speak, so John says it again, sweating with the exertion and the sensation.

"Please. Rodney."

"I made you – jesus, John. I made you something." There's a whirring noise behind him, and John pulls his fingers out of his ass in order to turn around to see what it is. The silver suitcase he noticed earlier is changing, unfolding and remaking itself like something off of _Transformers: Robots in Disguise_ , but it is not, from what John can tell, changing into a car or a tank or Optimus Prime.

John recognizes some of the parts from Ancient devices they've discovered, ones that were broken beyond repair. And he sure as hell recognizes the dildo that's mounted on a piston: Rodney's used it on him plenty of times, used it to stretch him wide. His breathing picks up. Rodney wants to fuck him with this thing, this machine.

"Rodney, I don't – "

Rodney doesn't snap or yell; the command is gentle, easy. "Quiet."

And just like that, he can see with perfect clarity what's going to happen: Rodney's going to do what he wants, and John's going to take it.

Rodney doesn't say anything else, not yet; just gives John time to do what he has to do.

Slowly, so slowly, John turns back around, turns away from the machine, and braces himself on hands and knees against the thick padding. His asshole is still wet and slick with lube, and it feels cold, exposed to the air like this. He forces himself to calm down, to take a few slow breaths, letting his head hang down between his shoulders and letting his chest expand with air: once, twice, three times.

After a moment, Rodney speaks again, his tone gentle and admiring. "You're so beautiful like that," he says. "Such a good boy." And John shuts his eyes tight as the cool silicone nudges at his hole.

"On your shoulder, hold yourself open," comes the command, but John is ahead of it, already halfway down, anticipating Rodney now. He knows what needs to happen next. From this angle, it's going to be difficult to get his ass around the dildo all by himself.

He digs his fingertips into his asscheeks, pulling them apart. The dildo rubs against his hole for a minute, stupid and mechanical, teasing without penetrating, and John grunts and maneuvers himself into the right position. Then the machine starts to push in, blunt and thick, spreading John suddenly, and it starts to burn. But the sensation of being stretched is good, too, like his body is dilating open, out of his control. He cries out as the thing pushes deeper, a rough noise that tears from his throat. His cock is leaking freely, now, wet fluid starting to spill from him. He aches for touch.

"Shhhhhh," Rodney says, and he sounds rough, too. "It's okay, I have the controls, just relax – you can get back up on your hands and knees, if you want."

John does, shifting slowly, bringing his arms down to the floor again while pushing his ass back, corkscrewing a little to work himself down the dildo. When he gets his weight back on his hands, it's better: he's got more leverage this way, doesn't feel like he's going to topple over any second. Rodney must see that too, on his video feed, because he moves the machine a little faster, pushing and pushing until it's all the way in, pushing it into John slow and inexorable: constant speed, constant force. He thinks he can't take any more, but the thing keeps nudging in further, and then a little further. John opens his mouth and pants. Then he realises that it's pulling back, that Rodney's pulling the thing back, that it's moving out of him again. John braces himself, forearms shaking, for the next thrust.

The machine pauses, halfway out. John can hear the mechanical parts whirring and clicking behind him, loud, and he thinks that maybe Rodney wanted it loud, that maybe he built it loud so that John couldn't forget exactly what it was that he was allowing to fuck him.

Just him in this empty room, and the thing shoved up his ass, starting to twist a little as it moves slowly in, then out again, acclimating John to the stretch of it, speeding up just slightly: in, all the way in, then back out a little, then in again, always the same frustrating speed. John finds himself pressing backwards onto the hard length of it, now, shameless and writhing, trying to get more, clenching against it helplessly. He could lose himself to this sensation, this relentless thing that's being done to him, but Rodney's voice draws him back.

"You're going to take it harder now." It shocks him, reminds him that Rodney is watching all this from his lab, recording it maybe, watching John on his knees, taking it in the ass from this thing, bending over for it, greedy for it, utterly exposed. He starts to moan, hot and embarrassed, but then his moan turns into a shout as the machine behind him pistons faster, fucking into him unforgivably, uncaringly, ramming him hard, filling him up.

"You wouldn't believe," Rodney pants, "the, the torque on this thing, what it can do to you." John imagines Rodney jerking himself hard, now, remote control in one hand and his dick in the other.

John makes a noise, low in his throat, like a whine. His ass is stretched wide, his cock hard and hot and swollen. The machine just keeps fucking him, hard and fast, rattling his teeth. "I need," he gasps, "Rodney, I need – "

There's a pause. Then Rodney asks, in that same hoarse voice, "What do you say, John?"

"Jesus," he grates out, "Jesus, Rodney, please, please, let me, please – "

"Touch yourself," Rodney says, and it's a gift: John moves to support himself on one arm and gets his other hand on his cock and it's a gift, it's all a gift, Rodney letting him have this, Rodney letting him fuck his own fist. He can't help the noise he makes as he finally gets friction against his dick. And with the rough, hard, sloppy thrusts of the machine into his ass, it's perfect, the perfect combination of sensations: he feels himself spiralling upwards, heady, out of control, lost against the sound of the pistoning machine behind him. It keeps shoving into him, keeps pushing faster, harder: it's more than John can take, and he speeds up his hand on his dick to keep up, sobbing as the pleasure ratchets through his body, as it coils and tenses in his balls, as it starts to rush through him –

"Are you coming?"

"Yes," John says through gritted teeth, "Yes, yes, god, I'm coming, fuck – " And he does, nearly blacks out as the dildo continues to push into him, over and over, riding him through his orgasm. John comes and comes, splattering himself and the floor with sticky fluid, comes so hard that he's on the edge of pain, his dick spasming in his hand.

As he comes back to himself, he feels the machine slowing down, then pulling back and slipping out of him. When it switches off, John can hear the gasping breaths that Rodney always takes after he comes.

"The machine is self-cleaning," Rodney pants into his ear, hot and intimate. "So it'll take care of itself. You wash up and get back to work."

John lets himself have a moment, just a moment, his head still hanging down between his arms. Then he levers himself up, wincing at the soreness in his arms, his thighs, his ass.

He walks back over to the bench where he left his clothes. He feels used, muscles still twitching with exertion, covered in sweat and semen. He reaches out with shaking hands to pick up his boxers, blinking and trembling as he pulls them on.

  
The machine folds itself back up neatly, whirring softly.

Rodney clicks off the radio.

John goes back to work.


End file.
